Chapter 9

Since then, time flowed by.

How much of it has passed, you aren't quite sure. There is no day or night in the deep sea, only the landscapes he takes you to see.

He took you to many places.

The deepest trenches. It was pitch black there, devoid of any natural light. But the spectral blue glow from his body illuminated the surroundings, revealing ancient creatures that hadn't changed for hundreds of millions of years—transparent, alien-looking beings drifting slowly through the darkness.

He led you down, down, further down, until you felt a crushing pressure unlike anything you had ever experienced. Then he would stop and watch you, his tentacles gently coiling around your waist. In your heart, you would say:

Enough, I’ve seen it.

Then he would take you back.

The edge of submarine volcanoes. Scorching magma surged from fissures, meeting the freezing seawater and exploding into a world of steam and light. Those lights were red, orange, and gold, blooming and vanishing in the darkness over and over. You watched those lights, your eyes shining. He watched you from the side.

The site of a whale fall. A massive skeleton lay quietly on the ocean floor, with countless organisms living around it—some eating the flesh, some gnawing the bones, some parasitic within the crevices. He called it "the liveliest banquet in the deep sea," one that would last for years before ending. Watching those small creatures busy themselves, you suddenly felt that death could also be beautiful.

A city of shipwrecks. Dozens of wrecks from different eras were stacked together like an underwater museum of ruins. Some were wooden, nearly rotted away; others were iron, rusted into a brownish-red. He led you through those ships, pointing out interesting things—an unbroken porcelain plate, a statue whose face was still discernible, a rusted-shut safe. You asked if he had ever opened it; he shook his head. You said you wanted to see inside, and a tentacle gave a gentle tug, ripping the door open. There was nothing inside, only seawater.

After every excursion, he would watch you. In those eyes, there was a faint, nearly imperceptible trace of expectation—

Do you like it?

Every time, you would nod, your eyes sparkling.

The tentacles would then gently brush against your cheek, as if saying:

That’s good then.

You laughed happily.

Truly happy.

Only occasionally, in the deepest part of the night, you would remember certain things.

The warmth of sunlight on your skin. The feeling of wind blowing through your hair. Those familiar faces.

It was only for a fleeting moment. You never spoke of it, because he never asked.

But he could sense it.

One day, he led you toward the surface.

You were stunned. Because it was a direction leading straight up—the direction of leaving the deep sea.

You wanted to ask what he was doing, but he simply stayed coiled around your waist and continued upward.

It grew brighter and brighter. The seawater changed from black to deep blue, from deep blue to light blue, and from light blue to transparent.

You broke the surface.

For the first time, sunlight fell upon your face.

You closed your eyes, feeling that long-lost temperature. Warm, bright, soaking through your skin and into your heart. You took a deep breath—it was air, not seawater.

Opening your eyes, you saw the boundless sea and a sky so blue it didn't seem real. There were clouds, there was wind, and the distant silhouettes of seabirds.

Then you saw him.

He was right beside you, the seawater reaching his waist. Those tentacles swayed gently in the water, and the sunlight fell upon his silver hair, giving off a faint radiance.

He could breathe in the air.

After the symbiosis, he could live in your world.

You looked at him, speechless.

The tentacles brushed against your cheek. His voice resonated in your brain, low and deep like the waves:

You can go anywhere you want from now on.

You froze.

If you want to return to the surface to see the sun, we come. If you want to go to the deep sea to see a whale fall, we go back. If you want to go anywhere—

You can.

He looked down at you, those golden slit pupils reflecting the sky and you.

As long as I am by your side.

You looked at him, at those tentacles, and at this monster who had lived alone in the deep sea for a thousand years—

You suddenly laughed.

As you laughed, something welled up in your eyes. You couldn't tell if it was seawater or something else.

You stood on your tiptoes and kissed him.

The sunlight fell upon you both, so warm.

A long time later, you pulled away.

"Then I want to take you to see the snowy mountains," you said.

He paused for a moment.

"To see the deserts. To see the grasslands. To see everything we haven't seen yet."

The tentacles coiled gently around your waist.

Okay.

"Will you come with me?"

He looked at you, those eyes entirely filled with your reflection.

Forever.

You smiled.

In the distance, seabirds soared across the horizon.

You took his hand and swam toward the shore.

The tentacles swayed gently beneath the water like a patch of bioluminescent seagrass.

You knew that no matter where you went, he would be there.

And no matter where he went, you would be there too.

That is the meaning of symbiosis.